It's sad enough when Sunday night rolls around, but holiday night blues can be even worse.
D was at his gaming friend's house, because it's Monday.
The girls are sacked out, after a day spent cleaning (mostly R's room), playing and riding bikes to the local pizza place for dinner and then home again (they rode, I walked).
D's mother dropped by mid-afternoon, and the girls and I stopped our work for a couple of hours while she sat at the table and drank green tea and told me stories, and while I reminded myself that there is a reason for everything, even (maybe especially) those things which frustrate me.
She also gave me a wonderful birthday gift. She was raised in France by a Corsican mother and a Russian father. Every year for her birthday, her father (who had been in the Czar's cavalry) would give her a gold French coin which had been made into a pendant. Today she gave me on of the oldest ones she had, from 1862. It's beautiful, and I feel so honored that she would pass it on to me. Since D's sister and his mother have been estranged for something like 17 years, I may be the closest thing to a daughter she has now, and maybe that has something to do with it.
At any rate, I'm grateful for the gift, and for the gift of time that this whole 3-day weekend has been.
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